Updated: Dec. 26, 2015
Originally Published: Aug. 9, 2015
“Sure,” I replied, even though I was aware it might ruin her appetite for dinner. “You can have as many as you’d like.”
The next day, I decided not to send her to day camp. Instead, she lounged on the couch in her pajamas, indulging in her favorite snacks while binge-watching Netflix. I referred to it as a mental health day. I allowed her to stay home again the following day, despite my work-from-home obligations and the mounting tasks I had yet to complete. In recent weeks, I had immersed myself in work, writing, and trying to get published, but whenever I felt down, I turned to movies and pizza. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to do the same?
A couple of years back, I stumbled upon an article questioning why we don’t extend the same respect to our children as we do to our partners. On a particularly stressful day—one of those moments when you feel entirely overwhelmed—I imagined how I must appear while expressing my frustrations. I would never speak to a friend, a partner, or any adult in that manner. So why did I find myself communicating this way with my daughter?
This wasn’t about treating her like an adult; it was about granting her the same respect I would offer anyone else. While it might resemble the golden rule of treating others how you wish to be treated, it was more about striving to be a kinder person to share my life with.
My daughter is quite selective when it comes to food. She has very specific preferences for types, brands, sizes, and textures. Over the years, this has led to considerable frustration on my part—mainly embarrassment during dinner invitations. I’ve navigated the entire spectrum of emotions associated with raising a picky eater, from desperation to bargaining, even bribing. I’ve coerced her into tasting foods that made her gag and even tried to get her hands dirty in the vegetable garden. She observes me (and now her little sister) eating various greens daily, so it’s not a lack of exposure. The fact remains: she has an insatiable sweet tooth and will do anything for sugar, although I strive to limit it as much as possible.
Recently, when she was away, I found myself slipping back into my old eating habits. With no need to prepare meals or ensure she consumed a few bites of anything, I would have my morning oatmeal around noon and then rely on cups of coffee to get by. By late afternoon, I’d be dizzy with hunger, scavenging for something to eat or tossing a frozen meal in the oven. Nothing ever seemed appealing except for a handful of options—typically those requiring minimal preparation.
Today, I made a substantial grocery run, and of course, my daughter, Lily, requested her usual junk foods, which I hadn’t purchased in months. I opted for more fruits and fewer crackers, switching from yogurt tubes to cups containing whole ingredients. For a time, I even only bought foods with labels she could read. However, as I strolled through the aisles, still feeling disinterested in cooking, I realized how often I thought, “No, that doesn’t seem good,” or “I don’t like that kind,” or even “Yuck!” Why was I not respecting my child’s food choices?
So, I went ahead and bought a few of the junk food crackers she adores, the ones I used to buy out of sheer desperation for her to consume some calories. I even picked up a small box of Lucky Charms at her request. When we returned home and started unpacking groceries, we paused to snack on various items we had opened—fruits, chips, crackers, and hummus.
“If you’re hungry, I can whip up something for you,” I said.
“I’m not hungry; I just want to snack,” she replied.
“Yeah, me too. I guess we’re both like that. We just enjoy snacking on foods we like.”
And just like that, we struck a deal.
I allocated a lower cupboard for her snacks along with her cups and bowls, and I set aside a section of the fridge. We discussed it, and I decided to see how it played out. As long as she made healthy choices and didn’t reach for ice cream bars on an empty stomach, I granted her the freedom to follow her appetite. No pressure to consume three more bites, no limitations to one or two choices, and no bribing her to finish her meal for dessert.
So far, this approach has yielded fantastic results. I’ve released the pressure of having a formal sit-down meal where we pass around dishes. My daughter now drifts in and out of the kitchen like I do, casually snacking on yogurt, cheese, fruits, or peanut butter. While it’s not quite reminiscent of Cher’s character in “Mermaids,” it’s pretty close, and I’m completely okay with that.
In conclusion, parenting is about learning to respect our children’s choices and understanding that, like us, they also have their preferences and needs.
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